Do you get the smell of porter?

Well, it's St. Paddy's Day. Have any ginger-haired guys from Jersey named McMurphy insist that you kiss him? If he does, you kick him instead.

Americans associate this day with Irishness, when really we invented the whole thing. Though I have to hand it to the people in the mother land—live on, Kathleen ni Houlihan!—they really know how to capitalize on our imaginations. Roar on, Celtic Tiger.

All grousing about the boozy disaster that is the American St. Patrick's Day aside, I will quite possibly drink a little Guinness today, maybe make some soda bread. I even wore a green sweater. I will not demand that you kiss me for being half Irish. I will, however, do two things. First, I'll remind you of what being Irish is all about (this was culled from a mass email I wrote to my nearest and dearest on this day last year... before I had a blog):

1. Despair
2. Humor in the face of despair
3. Drinking to ease despair.
4. Writing about despair to show that you've found beauty in despair-ridden life.
5. Drinking some more.

Second, I'll post the following poem by Flann O'Brien, one of my favorite Irish writers (indeed, one of my favorite writers period):

The Workman's Friend

When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

When money's tight and hard to get
And your horse has also ran,
When all you have is a heap of debt -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say you need a change,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

When food is scarce and your larder bare
And no rashers grease your pan,
When hunger grows as your meals are rare -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

In time of trouble and lousey strife,
You have still got a darlint plan
You still can turn to a brighter life -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

from Hellshaw.

So, my friends, hoist your pint of plain today to the most prolific island in the English-speaking world (it's made with poverty and despair, so it tastes like poverty and despair). And don't fear. I'll be coming at you with some Joyceana come Bloomsday.

photo of Dublin's Ha'Penny Bridge from travelireland.com